


Hubris

by treenahasthaal



Series: Collected Moments [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Brother-Sister Relationships, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, No Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:15:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4091980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treenahasthaal/pseuds/treenahasthaal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't only his hand Luke Skywalker Lost on Bespin. Captured by Vader he also lost his freedom and himself. </p><p>A series of 100 words drabbles collected together into a coherent story line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Agony, Punishment, Scars

**Author's Note:**

> I have been writing drabbles and posting them on ff.n for several years. However, due the nature of the challenge some of the drabbles were stand alone, but many became scenes of the same story and they all got mixed in with each other. I have decided to collect each story together here in an attempt to properly tell the stories I had been hoping to tell with all the drabbles running in the correct order - there are jumps in time so not every minute detail is covered and much is left to the readers imagination.
> 
> I have also given each story a title.
> 
> Each drabble is exactly 100 words.

**Agony**

It was agony! His muscles cramped and he had to stifle a cry of pain as he stumbled, almost losing the weight he had been made to carry. This was torture. There was no other word for what he was being put through. He caught his breath, drew in another as aching lungs gasped for air, as sweat mingled with dirt on the exposed skin of his torso.

“I can’t,” he moaned, falling to the dirt. His hands sinking into mud.

The weight on his back shifted. “Give up so easily, do you? To become a Jedi, commitment is required.”

 

**Punishment**

“I’m committed,” he ground out through clenched teeth, still staring at the mud as it oozed through his fingers.

“Hmm, anger I feel in you,” Yoda muttered unhappily as he shifted in the pack still strapped to Luke’s back.

Luke bit back his reply, stifled his growing annoyance and closed his eyes, seeking the calm of the Force to still his emotions if not the pain from his exhausted body. The run that morning had been twice as long as the day before.

“Restart from the beginning, you must.”

Luke’s fist closed around mud at the announcement of his punishment.

 

**Scars**

It was a moan of pain that woke him. Pulling himself from his bed, he hobbled to the door of his home and glanced into the clearing beyond where his apprentice lay sleeping. He could feel Skywalker’s twisting emotions; fear, rage, helplessness as his dream unfolded. Luke shuddered, shouted and Yoda shrank away unseen as the boy woke with a start. It would seem that Luke had inherited his father’s gift of foresight.

He would have to teach Luke control less he allowed these visions to control his destiny as his father had. The Galaxy could bear no further scars.

 


	2. Winter, Tree, Feast, Holy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke's training on Dagobah Continues...

**Winter**

Yoda had assured him it was winter, but Luke doubted this as he stripped out of the sweat sodden undershirt. He didn’t mind the heat, had grown up in a place much warmer than this swamp, but it was the humidity he struggled with. The damp air was heavy, oppressive; pressing against his body and sapping his strength.

When he made a mistake, when he stumbled, Yoda just demanded more of him, told him that the Force would give him the strength he required.

He threw the shirt to the mud in anger.

What he wouldn’t give for a bath.

**Tree**

He sat cross-legged in front of the towering tree. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow as he tried to find his focus within the Force, as he listened to the words and murmurs of his master as Yoda coached him in meditation.

Slowly the little Jedi’s words phased out, the noises of the jungle faded into the background and he smiled as the Force flooded through him. He had never felt such intensity, such strength; it thrummed through him, teased him with promises of power and invincibility it was...

_...his face behind the broken mask..._

... the dark side.

**Feast**

He dreamed of power, of invincibility.

He stood on the balcony of a tall building that soared over the cityscape. The view beyond and below was of a vast expanse of glittering towers, of endless traffic lanes that crisscrossed between the buildings.

Above him the sky was filled with massive ships; littered with darting fighters.

It was all his.

He closed his eyes, tightened his hands on the balustrade and drew the Force to him. He felt the living essence of the population below him, felt everything; all the fear, all the hate and anger.

He smiled.

He feasted.

**Holy**

His eyes snapped open and he yelled in shock at the face that leaned over him. Throwing his blanket aside he stood up.

“Please don’t do that, Master.”

“It is not me that you fear, young Skywalker.”

Luke said nothing. He reached for his weapons belt and drew it on, already feeling better as it settled on his hips.

“Dreamed you did.”

“Of a city, conquered and subjugated.”

“And you?”

He looked away, ashamed. “I was the conqueror.”

Since the tree Luke had been tested; tempted by Darkness. Yoda could only hope that Luke was stronger than his unholy father.


	3. Rattle, Cell, Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bespin dual took Luke's hand. The Sith took Luke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first set of drabbles set after Bespin. I know how Vader captured him, but I leave it to your imagination for now. I am keeping that scene for the full length story - if I ever write it.

**Rattle**

It was quiet now; a sheer blackness hid the stark walls of his prison. His laboured breathing was the only sound as he dragged in air to rattle through his swollen and damaged throat. He coughed, winced as cracked ribs protested the involuntary action. He tensed, allowing the pain to purl through him and pulled in another breath to repeat the cycle.

Breath, rattle, cough, pain.

He welcomed the darkness, and the coolness, that bathed his sweat drenched body and soothed his scorched skin. He welcomed the silence that relieved the sickly pounding of his head.

Breath, rattle, cough, pain.

 

**Cell**

He had no idea how long he had been here. Had lost all track of time since the duel on Bespin. He only knew that this room was his cell, this room was his place of torment and that Vader dictated his every moment.

Ignoring the protests of the saber slashes across his shoulders he turned to lay flat on his back. He stared through the darkness at the ceiling above him, relishing the quiet, the respite from Vader’s commands; the forced lightsaber duels, the training droids, the punishments he took for failing to meet the Dark Lord’s relentless demands.

 

**Blanket**

A vicious kick to his injured ribs woke him. He cried out, drew his arm in, pressing his hand against his side, before full awareness of his situation crashed in to shred the blanket of his sleep.

He no longer had a right hand.

“Get up.”

He pushed himself to stand, wavered and watched his captor move about the room.

“You are weak.”

He made no reply, knowing anything he said would be swiftly punished.

“I will make you strong.”

He licked his lips with a parched tongue and waited.

The Dark Lord tossed him a lightsaber.

“Pick it up.”


	4. Exquisite, Ecstacy, Elated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darth Vader forces Luke to fight, to train.

**Exquisite**

The lightsaber flew into his open palm, igniting on contact. He swung it in an arc toward the Dark Lord’s neck. Vader met the blow, shoving him back. He stumbled, arms flailing to maintain balance when something struck him in the chest, driving the breath from him and hurling him backward to crash into the wall.

Gasping he looked up, yelled in terror as Vader’s saber thrust into his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. He screamed against the pain, lost in the exquisite agony of melting durasteel as it charred his uniform and seared the skin from his back.

**Ecstasy**

Vader pulled his saber free and the boy - his son - slumped to his knees before him, barely conscious. The Dark Lord smiled beneath his mask, Luke would have to get used to such a position, have to show due respect and supplication to his master.

He closed his eyes, drawing the Force to him, feeling the boy’s physical power weaken even as his strength of darkness grew stronger, blacker. His son knew hatred and fury and yet he still denied himself the ecstasy of both.

There was yet time to teach him.

He turned away, deactivating his lightsaber.

**Elated**

A flicker of warning in the Force stopped Vader. He smiled, as the spit and hum of a lightsaber blade cut through the stillness of the room.

Elated at the darkness he felt, he drew his own sword and turned to face his injured son.

Howling in rage and pain Luke drew himself to his feet and staggered from the shadows to stand before his antagonist, his sword held high in his left hand.

“You challenge me?”

Luke faltered at the words, his knees folding beneath him, the lightsaber rolling from his grasp.

“There is yet hope for you, boy.”


	5. Whimper, Roar, Scream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke's forced training continues.

**Whimper**

Luke was asleep; curled and crammed into a dark nook of the training room. He was not often granted the sanctity of slumber. He had been forced to train, driven to the limits of his mental and physical endurances. However, Vader did not wish his son’s mind shattered, nor his spirit crushed or body broken, but these things were necessary when Luke continued to deny his destiny.

As Vader stepped closer the boy uttered a small sound; a whimper of protest as though sensing an end to his peace.

It was time wake him.

It was time to tell him.

**Roar**

Luke staggered to his feet, his left fist closing over the hilt of the lightsaber. He swallowed, watched Vader carefully, trying to gauge the Dark Lord’s next move.

“The Jedi have failed.”

Luke made no reply; he was used to Vader’s taunting.

“They should have hidden you more carefully.”

Luke clutched the lightsaber tighter.

“They should have known that your father would find you. Claim you.”

“What?”

The dark side surrounded them; waiting, anticipating.

“I am your father.”

He had expected a cry of denial, a roar of disbelief. Instead Luke dropped the lightsaber and fell quietly to his knees.

**Scream**

The Force stormed within him; winds screaming, beating him as one word reverberated. He bowed his head, placed his hand to the floor and clutched the stump of his right arm to his chest.

_My father._

His dreams shattered and collapsed around him; his identity ground under the harsh heel of truth, his hopes crushed.

He heaved in a shuddering breath; trying to calm, trying to slow the beat of his heart as realisation caved in.

He was lost and alone; kneeling on the floor at the feet of his sire.

The Dagobah vision was true.

He was Vader.


	6. Deception, Enigma, Honour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last a truth is revealed.

**Deception**

He closed his eyes as his fingers curled around the floor grating. The stump of his right arm throbbed, the pain slicing up his arm, but it was nothing compared to the agony that grew in his chest; in his heart.

They lied.

They had all lied.

His whole life, his whole identity had been a deception. He was not what he thought he was; he was...

His father’s son.

His tortured body shuddered with fatigue, fright and devastation. A bead of sweat ran from his face, dropped from the tip of his nose.

His father stood before him, waiting.

**Enigma**

His father.

All his life his father had been an enigma. A mysterious man who had travelled and died on a freighter.

Then he was Jedi Knight and a good friend.

Rebel after Rebel came to him on hearing his father’s name wanting to meet the son, wanting to share stories and memories of the deeds of Anakin Skywalker.

He was a hero who saved the galaxy. A dashing figure whose death was shrouded with mystery and assumption.

The hero was dead.

There was only Vader.

There was no doubt of the truth, no confusion or disbelief.

Still he waited.

**Honour**

He needed to act. He could not stay on his knees forever.

The Force squalled within; a storm that battered and pounded his senses with bitterness and resentment.

They had misled him.

Vader had maimed and tortured him.

He had nothing left.

Nothing except...

A choice.

His honour and his shredded beliefs or... his father.

He sucked in a breath, could smell his own stench; his unwashed body. His fear.

He opened his eyes, pushed himself to his feet. He lifted his chin and regarded his father’s dark mask.

“You... may be my father... but... you are not my master.”


	7. Recoil, Resistance, Restrain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And still Luke fights against the inevitable.

**Recoil**

Something inside Vader recoiled at his son’s announcement. Something shrank, flinched at the words that the boy forced out in defiance. Luke had heard the truth, had felt it, and had accepted it.

It had not, however, meant that his captive son had accepted him.

It gave him a moment’s pause.

_“...you’re going down a path I can’t follow.”_

She had done the same. She had told him she loved him while refusing to accept him, had turned away from him, had turned to Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, who had turned his wife against him, had now turned his son against him.

 

**Resistance**

With a slow, burning, fury he raised his hand, reached out with the Force and grasped his son by the neck; lifting him into the air. He ignored the strangled gasps, ignored the lips that slowly began to turn blue.

“Obi-Wan will fail. You are my son. Mine.”

Luke’s remaining hand grasped at his throat, trying desperately to loosen the tight, invisible fingers.

With a quick flick of his wrist he threw Luke across the room. The boy thudded into the wall and dropped to the floor.

Vader towered over him. “Your resistance will only make my victory more satisfying.”

 

 

**Restrain**

He reigned in his anger, restrained his desire to punish, to dominate and destroy. There would be no death for his son.

He turned from the boy, gestured to the waiting duelling droids to come forward. He felt Luke’s horror and hopeless understanding shudder through the Force as his father abandoned him to the darkness of the training room and to the merciless droids.

This would be his son’s life; this room, these droids, until his spirit bent and snapped to the will of the Dark Side.

Until he found his knees once more and renounced the Jedi.

Renounced Kenobi.

 


	8. Red, White, Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke makes a decision.

**Red**

It was all red.

That one colour was his life.

He stared at the ceiling through swollen eyes, licked his cracked and peeling lips, feeling fresh blood swell and trickle warmly down his chin.

He smiled; blood was red, too.

The door opened and he closed his eyes against the nightmare from which he could not wake. This nightmare of red hues; scarlet blood, crimson and burgundy bruises and the ruby blade of the lightsaber he now heard activated.

“Get up.”

He rolled onto his belly, pushed up and stood to face his father wishing the colours would change.

**White**

His vision whitened out; a blinding glare that tore sight from him and seared his senses. He screamed, dropped to his knees and clutched his injured arm to his chest.

His world was white; his world was pain.

Isn’t this how it all started?

Hadn’t he been arrogant and prideful?

Hadn’t he thought he could take on his father’s killer?

Hadn’t he had been brought to his knees by the stroke of blade; seized and captured and brought here to be trained and twisted by...

_... my father..._

He smiled as the white faded and his vision cleared.

He knew...

**Black**

He grasped his lightsaber and stood, swaying on his feet, still clutching his arm to his body. The hand had been lost on Bespin and Vader’s latest saber swing had taken much of the remaining forearm.

They stood in stillness while the Force squalled and stormed; shimmering black and blinding light warring as father and son rested on the cusp of destiny.

Luke flipped the lightsaber, held it lengthwise. He eased himself to his knees, dipped his head and offered the sword to his father - knowing there would be a time when he would wish for the red to return.


	9. Crack, Catalyst, Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke acts...

** Crack **

Vader remained still as his son slowly kneeled before him and offered up the deactivated lightsaber in submission.

He had not expected this quite so soon.

The boy had accepted their relationship, but had refused to capitulate, had denied his father’s mastery over him. Luke had fought, struggled - had shouted his defiance and screamed his denials as he pushed the darkness away, only to leave himself open to its insidious crawl.

The Dark Side had slithered in between the cracks and now lay nested and warm within him.

The more he fought, the darker Luke became.

So why now?

 

** Catalyst **

The hand holding the sword out wavered; shook.

Luke’s head was bowed, eyes to the floor as he waited for his father to respond. Shock trembled through limbs, agony sliced through the fresh wound, he felt giddy, faint. But still he waited, maintained his position of supplication as Vader pondered this unexpected move.

He needed this, he needed this moment. He needed Vader to act, to provide the catalyst, for he could not do this without one.

He gritted his teeth, fought to still the shaking of his body, battled against the pain that overwhelmed him and steadied his hand.

 

** Cage **

Vader could feel the effort it was taking for Luke to maintain the position. His son had a strength of will, a stubbornness that drove him and that could very well condemn him and encage him forever.

And yet...

His eyes flickered to the hilt that Luke offered, to the base of the sword.

... if given the right direction that tenacity and spirit could be used.

He reached out.

In that instant Luke straightened, brought his head up, and he smiled as he activated the lightsaber - its blade extending toward his own chest.

He cried out… just once.

 


	10. Warm, Cold, Indifferent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... and submits.

**Warm**

The clinical smell of pure oxygen caught in the back of his throat making him gag, his body jerking against the warm fluid that encased him, pain flaring from his chest and right arm. He dragged open his eyes and was unsurprised to find himself suspended in a bacta tank; the dark shadow of his father’s form visible through the viscous liquid.

He knew he would not be allowed to die. Even as the sabre pierced his chest he had known there would be no escape.

But he’d had to try: he’d had to have a final act of rebellion.

**Cold**

Vader watched dispassionately as his son’s body thrashed briefly in the tank, sensors indicating that the boy was now awake and aware. He had not needed the readouts to inform him of Luke’s condition: he could feel him.

Such strength. Such pure, unadulterated, power pouring into the Force surrounding him.

There was rolling horror as awareness descended, a sheer terror at finding himself still alive, an agony of spirit that cried for release, a bleak and blackened hatred and then...

... there was acceptance, the cold realisation that there would be no death, no escape.

That there never would be.

**Indifferent**

The bacta drained away and he was lifted out, carried and placed on the cool durasteel of a medical bench. The droids worked quickly as his father watched; restraints were fitting around his ankles and remaining wrist, the bacta remaining on his body was flushed away, and a fresh saturated dressing placed across his chest wound.

He remained still and quiet, detached and indifferent, as a cybernetic arm was carried and placed on the bench beside his arm stump.

Vader knew the agony of this procedure, had cried and screamed as his cybernetics were fitted.

His son was utterly silent.

 


	11. Helpless, Lost, Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a new Sith - the "Fuar Bas."

**Helpless**

He stared at the man hanging helpless on the wall - cruel binders gouging into wrists, shoulders pulled and popped from joints, trailing blood weeping lazy paths down his arms and bruised abdomen.

Stepping forward he reached out and took the captive’s chin, gently angling his head upward until the dull brown eyes met his. There was still strength there, still a desire to fight and he had to admire the strength that his old friend still possessed.

He spoke softly. “There is no hope here, no last minute rescue. You know that, don’t you?”

Wedge Antilles closed his eyes.

 

**Lost**

“You are lost, Wedge,” he cocked his head, brushed a thumb against the bruised cheek. “Lost to the Rogues, to the Rebellion. There is no going back.”

Antilles hitched a breath, stifled a groan as broken ribs protested any movement. Eyes opening he looked at the man before him. He looked so familiar, the blond hair, the blue eyes, the faint scars on his cheek where the wampa had clawed him. The sight of Skywalker should have warmed him, should have pleased him. They shared a history; the same triumphs and tragedies.

He had missed Luke, mourned him.

 

**Broken**

“You must see that, you must understand, Wedge. You are broken.”

And this stirred Antilles anger, snapped him from his despair. How dare he, of all people, do this.

“Ju...ust like... y...you,” he rasped.

His chin was dropped as the _Fuar Bas_ stepped back, eyes flashing in rage, fists tightening by his sides and Wedge steeled himself for another blow.

It didn’t come. Instead Skywalker turned his back to him and strode from the cell. The door slammed shut, the lights snapped off, leaving Wedge alone in the cold darkness.

“Tr...uth hurts, huh, L..uke...?” he breathed into the empty silence.

 


	12. Touch, Talent, Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A marble floor occupies the mind of the Fuar Bas...

**Touch**

When entering the room the floor looked truly black, a gleaming slick of reflective darkness devoid of colour or light. But closer, he could see the lighter patterns within it, could follow their paths as they wove themselves through the black stone.

He was on his knees, head bowed to his Emperor as he waited for his father to stop speaking and for the attention of both Dark Lords to turn to him. He stared at the floor, at the swirls of muted grey in the polished black marble.

He reached down, touched the surface wishing he could be marble.

**Talent**

“The floor interests you, young Skywalker?”

He froze. Keeping his head down, not daring to look up he answered. “No, Master.”

“No?”

He could hear the rustle of fabric as Palpatine stood, footsteps as he descended the steps. Luke braced himself.

“You are talented, boy: strong with the Force. The Dark Side sings in your presence. Can’t you feel it?”

Swallowing Luke answered. “Yes, Master.” For it was true, he had accepted darkness and darkness had taken him.

A stench of decay and cold, gnarled, fingers closed over his. “And yet you crave the lighter shades, still.”

“No, Master.”

“Liar!”

 

**Take**

The Emperor’s rage hurled him across the throne room; he thudded into the back wall narrowly missing the red guards stationed there.

He lay still, fighting for breath, as Palpatine hissed at Vader.

“You will take your son to detention...”

_No... not again..._

“... have him kill the rebel pilot.”

_Wedge..._

“Antilles has not yet divulged...” Vader began.

“There are always other pilots, other Rebels. Your son needs taught a lesson. He will kill his friend.”

Luke closed his eyes in acceptance, in understanding. He would obey his master, he would kill Wedge and the grey within him would blacken.


	13. Death, Dignity, Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His son was a Skywalker...

**Death**

It was with pride that he watched his son stride from the turbolift toward him. It was with pride that he saw the bridge crew cringe with fear at his passing and it was pride that rose, swelled, within as his son kneeled before him and dipped his head in supplication.

“It is done?”

“Yes, father.”

Pride again. Vader turned from him, left him kneeling, looked out beyond the view port to the vastness of the Galaxy, to _his_ Empire.

Out there his son’s title of Darth was forgotten, unused, needless.

He was simply the _Fuar Bas._

The Cold Death.

**Dignity**

He stared at the cold durasteel deck plates waiting for his father to dismiss him. He did not move, he did not blink, he merely breathed.

His father could keep him like this for hours, could keep him on his knees and strip him of his dignity if he so pleased.

He was the only being who could.

Palpatine had tried.

Had failed.

The old man’s neck had snapped in his hand like a gnarled twig.

His lips tugged into a brief smirk, but he smothered it, hid it, as Vader’s boots stepped once more into his line of vision.

**Desire**

Vader turned at the burst of emotions from his son. There had been satisfaction, hatred and a searing, naked malice.

It was gone now, replaced by the cold indifference that the boy had carried since the day he was lifted from the bacta tank.

But Vader was not fooled.

His son had been a Skywalker.

His blood burned with desire, with passion. He craved the heat of battle, the blazing flames of war and conquest. He raged and delighted in each stroke of his lightsaber as it brought him closer to the one thing he craved the most.

His freedom.


	14. Delight, Relish, Enthral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some visions come to pass.

**Delight**

He had thought Palpatine’s death would free him. Had thought it would, somehow, absolve him. He had squeezed the life from the old man with his bare hands, had felt the darkness of his life force fade, had eased off the pressure and allowed relief, a breath, a flicker of eyelids as Palpatine stared him in the face.

He had smiled at the Emperor. Smiled and snapped his neck.

As the body thudded to the floor he had thought there would be more; perhaps absolution for Wedge, for the others, perhaps relief, joy, delight.

There had been only quiet pleasure.

**Relish**

His boots crunched on the gravel as he stepped from his shuttle and walked with his men to the front line. He relished these moments, savoured the thrill of battle, the freedom from conscious thought as he activated his sword and led his troops into heat and mayhem, into blood and death.

This is what he had been created for. This was his destiny, his purpose.

They called him _Fuar Bas._

They were wrong.

He did not coldly kill. He killed with passion, in frenzied moments of searing exhilaration.

He broke through the ranks, ignited his blood-red lightsaber and charged.

**Enthral**

It was over.

The battle won.

He heaved in a breath, stepped back from the new corpse lying burned and bloodied at his feet. Shutting off his sword he wiped the grime of the battle from his face with the cuff of his sleeve and glanced across the cityscape. Enthralled he watched the fires burn in tall towers, the smoke billowing into the sky to caress the bellies of the destroyers that hung there. Black fighters darted like carrion flies over the carcass of the conquered city.

He froze, recognising the scene.

His dream on Dagobah – it was this city.


	15. Abused, beaten, Bruised

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the midst of destruction the Fuar Bas senses others...

**Abused**

And so now he stood on the balcony with the cityscape stretching out before him. The glittering lights of the towers muted the darkness of the night; the soft tones of light shielding the city from full blackness.

He lowered his head, his gaze going to the sheer drop that lay below him. The distance was dizzying, terrifying and it fell away into shadow and gloom.

This city, abused by the battle, had restored light but it couldn’t hide the darkness that lay at its heart.

_“Dreamed you did.”_

He closed his eyes against the memory and whispered.

“Yes, master.”

**Beaten**

He tightened his fists, fighting against the images of another time, of another place and another man.

_“Dreamed you did.”_

_“Of a city, conquered and subjugated.”_

_“And you?”_

_“I was the conqueror.”_

Beaten by the past, by ancient feelings of shame, he opened his eyes and heaved in a breath of air and... stilled, froze, as he sensed the feather-like touch of another.

This was not his father, this was not a bludgeoning, punishing, invasion of his mind designed to drive him to his knees and into submission.

This was a gentle brush of curiosity and wonder, and of hope.

**Bruised**

Looking up into the overcast sky he followed the trace of contact. Reaching out into the Force, into its yawning vastness, he trailed behind the presence seeking to find the source, the person who had touched him so gently.

_It had been so long..._

_So long since..._

He staggered backward, colliding with the wall behind him as he was blocked by another’s mind, this one stronger, potent and protective. The hope vanished leaving behind the impression of cunning merriment and the underlying scent of rotting vegetation.

Rubbing at his bruised elbow the _Fuar Bas_ smiled.

He had thought him dead.


	16. Sweep, Subdue, Sing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Fuar Bas is granted a wish...

**Sweep**

He stilled his smile, swallowed his feelings; silenced them as the sweeping touch of another swamped him. He turned at his father’s presence; as the Dark Lord of the Sith’s malignancy crawled over him looking for the source of his son’s brief and fleeting feelings of...

_Joy..._

... curiosity and wonder.

From behind him he could sense his father’s approach and he dropped to his knees waiting for his sire to step out onto the balcony.

“Perhaps you have forgotten our old master’s lessons, my son.”

He looked up at Vader’s bulk, his lips pulling in humour. “I have, father.”

**Subdue**

He was thrown backward by the arching backhand, landing hard against the bars of the balustrade. Dragging a hand across his split lip he drew himself back into a kneeling position as his father stepped closer.

He bowed his head, allowed blood to drip to the floor. “I have forgotten Palpatine’s lessons father, but not yours.”

He felt his father’s hesitation, his father’s pride and accomplishment and once more he had to subdue his feelings, smother his satisfaction with fear and defeat; he had to be the compliant son.

“Explain,” Vader ordered.

Licking his lips, tasting blood, he answered.

“Yoda.”

 

**Sing**

There was a creak of leather as Vader’s fists tightened. “He lives?”

There was hesitation, a moment of doubt, before the answer came to him. “I felt him, father.”

He could feel the Dark Lord’s fury, singing through the Force. It was deep, rich and red; a blinding rage.

“Send me, father,” he begged. “Send me, and I will bring him to you. He is old, weak and...”

“He was a powerful Jedi.”

“I am a powerful, Sith,” he declared hoping that his father could not feel his uncertainty.

He remained still, holding his breath, until...

“Go... and destroy him.”


	17. Danger, Dark, Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Master and an apprentice sense a growing threat.

**Danger**

The swell of danger rippled through the Force, each wave rising and falling as it spread throughout the Galaxy. Those beings sensitive to the living energy of the universe paused for a moment; some shivered as though chilled, others grimaced with pain, gasping at the strength of the warning that clutched them.

But most, untrained and unknowing, shook off the feeling as the wave passed by and returned to their activities, putting the strange sensation to the back of their minds until they had forgotten it completely.

But, for others, the sense of foreboding trailed after them like a shadow.

**Dark**

Eyes snapped open, seeing at first only darkness and gloom before sight slowly adjusted and the shapes of gnarled and twisted trees could be seen through the murky light. Hands sank into soft dirt and decaying matter. They pushed upward and legs unfurled and straightened to stand.

“Sense something, do you?”

“Yes, master... a threat, a... warning.”

“Hmmm.... a storm is coming. Sensed me, he did... and you.”

“Me?” A flutter of panic, quickly quashed by a calming breath and the Force folded about the apprentice, soothing and healing fears. “I have been careful, Master.”

A chuckle. “I have not.”

**Despair**

Realisation dawned and the apprentice’s eyes strayed to the belt that hung on a nearby tree branch and to the lightsaber hooked to it.

“That mind I touched... the despair... I felt... that was him?”

“Yes,” he watched his pupil closely, watched as hands wiped dirt onto filthy pants.

“He’s in so much pain.... he has suffered so much and... I never knew,” guilt under scored the words. “I never understood.”

“Know what you must do, do you?”

There was a moment of hesitation, a reluctance to accept what was being suggested, then a nod. “I must end his suffering.”


	18. Faith, Hope, Absolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There had to be faith... and hope.

**Faith**

There had to be faith.

Faith in the Force, that it would not fail him, that his powers would not diminish when he would need them so badly.

Faith that the Jedi Master was not yet dead, that the surging ebb he had felt all those months ago was not Yoda’s death as he had feared.

Faith that the mind he had touched, the mind that had powerfully repelled him was indeed his ancient teacher’s.

Faith in himself, that what he had once believed could still be true and that, like black marble, he still had some trace of light.

**Hope**

There had to be hope.

Hope that there was still some glimmer of Luke Skywalker in the approaching Sith. Hope that the feelings she had sensed before Yoda had intervened held true. Hope that compassion and love had not been wiped out by the _Fuar Bas_ persona.

_“Forever will darkness dominate his destiny.”_

Hope that she could stand strong should the man who now crashed through the jungle of Dagobah bear no resemblance to her brother.

_“He did not choose Darkness, Master. It chose him.”_

Hope that she was right and Yoda wrong and that Luke could still be saved.

**Absolution**

Leia swallowed as the man stepped from the jungle. In her mind she had been expecting Luke – blue eyed, unruly hair grown collar length, an easy smile and a willing laugh. She had expected to feel his passion, his boisterous exuberance and his fervour for his cause.

What she saw was different creature; a thin, blackened figure. Scars criss-crossed his face, pulling at his lips, drawing them into a sneering smirk as he studied her. His eyes, his sky blue eyes, were now sickly yellow and red rimmed irises.

He did not give the appearance of a man seeking absolution.


	19. Reunion, Reckoning, Rejoice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brother and sister face one another... One is Sith. One is Jedi

**Reunion**

This wasn’t the reunion he had expected.

Not Leia.

Not Here.

And not with a Lightsaber in her hand and the Force shining from within her.

He wanted to run to her, wanted to fall to his knees before her and beg forgiveness for his sins, for all the evils his father had loosed upon the galaxy, for all the times that he had obeyed his father’s bidding.

And enjoyed it.

Instead he stood his ground, swallowed his surprise. “Yoda?”

“He is beyond you now, Sith.”

Her truth saddened him, but her truth was mixed with uncertainty.

**Reckoning**

“My old master may be beyond me, Princess, but you are not.”

Leia steadied herself at the implied threat and returned with, “I am a Jedi Knight, Luke.”

He paused at his old name, at the familiarity of it, at the longing that arose within him at the sound of it.

She must have sensed this. “Luke...”

“My reckoning is not with you, Princess,” he told her, brusquely. “I was to confront my old master.”

She smiled sadly at this, and softly said, “I am to confront my brother, just as he confronted our father.”

The Force stilled around them and silence fell.

**Rejoice**

Luke dropped to his knees.

_“They should have known that your father would find you.”_

_“I am your father.”_

Leia staggered back under the explosion of images that suddenly rushed her.

_...a lightsaber amputating a hand..._

_... a black gloved hand striking a bruised face..._

_... a lightsaber piercing flesh..._

_... an old man’s neck snapping..._

_... a city, burning..._

_... a slab of black marble veined with flecks of light grey..._

She stared at her brother, cautiously approached him, not daring to hope, not daring to rejoice just yet.

She placed a hand on his head.

“Luke?”

“Save me...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> I may, someday, go back and write Hubris as a full length story, but for now the drabbles will suffice.


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